The Wizarding Chronicles: The Silver Stairs
by J. Christian Farrell
Summary: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is defeated, but now the true war has begun. Both internationally and nationally, offset gangs claiming to be the "True Death Eaters" begin to terrorise the briefly peaceful Wizard World, and Harry Potter is simply a name.
1. Prologue

5

The Wizarding Chronicles: The Silver Stairs

_Prologue_

THE NIGHT BURST INTO COLOURFUL FLAMES; streamers sparked across the sky. All around the village, the fireworks reflected in the windows of houses, against the dark black night sky. The darkest night of their lives was finally over! Witches in pointed black hats screeched as they poured into the streets, hugging each other, some crying, many far too shocked to realise what had happened. Wizards rushed from their stalls in public houses, crowding the street without much care for their stunned Muggle acquaintances. Drinks were abandoned for the chaotic merriment taking place in pedestrian zones all across Ireland, for every Witch and Wizard, previously listening to the Ministry of Magic's broadcast of the Battle at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – every Witch and Wizard now knew the great and wonderful truth: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had finally been defeated by "the Chosen One"!

Isabella Isaacs, a portly witch wearing whacky lime green robes, could not help grinning wide as she plunked a brimming mug of butterbeer before her guests at an outdoor café.

"Always knew he was the one, that Potter boy! He had You-Know-Who beat the day he survived the Killing Curse, he did," she lifted the mug and drained its contents, burping loudly as she resurfaced. No one seemed to care, or perhaps they couldn't hear for the shouting and the fireworks and all the pandemonium, taking place around them, was deafening. Several Muggles were dancing and shouting now, too, as though they knew all along that this day would come when the most evil Wizard of all time would fall at the hands of an Upper School dropout seventeen year-old boy. Isabella laughed as several Muggles toppled over a table heavily laden with lagers and steaming hot drinks. One cursed as he landed in a pile of hot nutmeg mead, but the partying waited not for him to reboot. Upward, higher and higher, faster and faster, green and red and purple sparks shot into the sky, at intervals, illuminating the small village below. Shattered glass and a stifled yelp came from somewhere beyond the small but central public house, and Isabella, though hearing this over the chaos, merely brushed it off for merriment. The atmosphere was euphoric, sublime even, and she knew some young lovers must have been using this opportunity to sneak away and enjoy themselves.

A green spark shot up into the air, hovering over the village, and the noise seemed to stagger for a short moment. The reminiscence of green sparks flying still held horrific and silencing power over the people. Never before had so many children and prominent Witches and Wizards been killed (except, perhaps, for the Giant Wars in the Early 17th century, but it was also difficult to compare to being squashed to death as opposed to being killed by the Unforgivable Curse). Isabella knew, all along, Harry Potter would defeat You-Know-Who and lift the veil of fear surrounding them all. Her merriment was loudest of her group, her emotions taken to the next plinth.

Jenny Warren was the first to walk around the side of the public house. She had had too much mead and it did not mix well with the butterbeer she had consumed mere minutes before the announcement. Her stomach was all in knots and she felt the burning sensation of vomit climbing its way up her pipe. In a frantic moment, she ducked under the couple kissing next to her, around the drunken dancing pair and marched straight through a motlier crew with overgrown beards and foul looks, desperate to disappear behind the crowd. So, when she spotted the body lying, face down, upon the ground inches from where she had vomited away the last two meals she'd eaten, her surprise – her horror – went unnoticed, for now it was late enough that fatigue and spirits made for quicker merriment and further boozing. Some people, she knew, were passed out under windowsills, clutching bottles of butterbeer or something stronger, with looks of pure ecstasy on their faces, but none of these lay face down on the cobblestones. There was no sign of blood, no evidence of a struggle, so Jenny Warren decided that it was another Muggle woman passed out. Her attention had been on a rather tall cloaked and bearded bloke with whom she had been dancing, and she had been thinking of snogging him before the euphoria wore off. Now, she could only think of what she must do if Death Eaters crashed the party. But weren't they gone also? Hadn't their battle been lost, their fate decided, when You-Know-Who perished some hours before? Weren't they safe from harm now? Well, yes, of course they were. He was gone; He had been defeated at last; The Ministry had said so themselves. So, why was there a very inanimate body lying near her, unmoving?

Jenny Warren tried to wheedle her way back to where she had left the cloaked figure, but she could not find him. She looked around but everyone had begun to look the same, and she felt much less secure as she noticed how many people wore black cloaks and wore them with their hoods up. Her hand gripped her wand as the panic set in. Each green spark seemed to come from somewhere out of sight, and if she could not see where it came from, she could not know where to point her own wand and defend her. The crowd had begun to look less and less like people, and more and more like those dreaded followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And everywhere she turned, shrieks for help seemed to echo in her ears. Screams and cries of agony… were reverberating….

_The door swung open and a cloaked man entered the room, his boots thunking on the wood floorboards. From under the bed, Jenny could see the mud caked onto the boots, and she could smell the stink of marshland. He drew nearer and muffled a yawn. She scrunched up into a ball and held her breath. Hours seemed to pass in seconds, and he slowly bent down, his hand reaching for something on the floor. Then, just before he was about to pull away the sheets concealing the girl, a voice bellowed below:_

'_They aren't up there, you dim-witted blood-traitor! I've 'em down here, in their bedroom, cowering in the corner.' The breaking of a wooden door confirmed that _they_ had just retaliated with no success. A slap and then the terrible, blood curdling scream preceded the sickening thump of a body, lifeless and limp, hitting the floor. The boots did not move. _

'_Get—yer bloody Muggle arse—down here right—right now, Breckenridge!' the voice gasped. The boots moved, closing the door, but Jenny did not budge, for if they chose to, they could return and kill her too. _

Ghosts of years ago, drifted back into her memory, and her breathing began to come in gasps; her pulse quickened and she felt the air around her gush out. She couldn't breathe; she clutched her chest but no breath could be inhaled from the square around her. She felt her knees buckle and her body topple, but it was just seconds before she hit the street that she heard high-pitched screaming and saw boots again. Then, nothing.

Isabella lay, sprawled over on the tabletop, her limbs twitching as though shocked with electricity. She had been joking, one moment, and then she felt her entire body seize with an immense pain, and she had leaned over, and began bashing her head against the iron top of the table until blood streamed from the multiple gashes she had made. Opening her eyes, feebly, she saw her friend lying on the street, not moving. Fireworks burst overhead still, but the company she had been keeping were twitching or lying lifeless upon the street. She groaned and passed out.

On the outskirts of the village, a house stood silent, its gate firmly locked. Three hooded figures emerged from the central walk of the village and made their way toward the house, while screams of terror and stampedes of merry-makers rushed back and forth. Some fell lifeless, others seized up and tumbled over; several suddenly began abusing themselves in the most brutal manner (running into flowerpots, jamming their head into glass windows until they broke, and worse), but the three figures, wands drawn, aimed for the house. Two jumped the fence and kicked in the front door. The third waited, patiently, by the gate. The sounds of boots on the wooden stairs resounded in the distance, and the guard let out a deep breath, turning his face back toward the village. It had begun to burn as fireworks were released on the square to kill the innocents who had not been killed with the Curse. He blinked. Some night it had been. The Dark Lord was finally defeated. Their work could surface, now. Behind him, the sound of iron bedposts scraping across the wooden floor, children screaming, and doors being kicked in… it was horrible, and he couldn't take it much more. Turning on his heel, he burned the gate lock and pushed it open. Above him, green lights flashed in the upstairs windows of the house, briefly illuminating the silhouettes of young adolescents, cowering mostly, with their arms outstretched, and each flash preceded a thump as bodies hit the deck. In through the opened door, across the darkened room and up the stairs, the third man walked swiftly and silently. He drew a dagger, closed in on the first hooded figure and silently slid the blade across his throat. The figure tumbled down the stairs, clutching his neck, but his wand continued to roll, slowly, down the steps after him, and the third hooded figure was already moving toward the next room. Thrusting the blade through the broken window, the third figure drew his wand and aimed for a spot in the wall, where he knew the second hooded man stood, terrorising three children. Without thinking, he aimed and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!_" and listened for the man to fall.

The house fell into shadows, then, and the children who survived filled the darkness with hysterical sobbing and whimpering. The man illuminated the room he was in and cast a glance around. It was a wreck, complete mass murder as bodies of the countless slain littered the floor. Two grown-up bodies told him that the foster parents of the house were no more. Crowding the doorway were the survivors in the other room, and they all looked completely petrified. They squinted in the light.

"Get out!" He muttered at them, though no one moved. The house collapsed into sounds of heavy breathing and stifled sobs, and somewhere behind him, a baby cried out.

5


	2. Chapter 1: Abram

13

The Wizarding Chronicles: The Silver Stairs

Chapter One

Chapter One: Bianca's Surprise

_Monday_

_Dearest Sister,_

_We've apprehended the group formerly known as the Bán Sidhes, and we are certain, that is Damian Breckenridge and I, their operations are not as we thought. They seemed to be guarding a safe house of sorts, if you understand what I mean. I am sad to say that our mission forced us to enter this house, for we were unable to know what they are up to, you must understand. I would not have chosen it to turn out this way, but we had little choice. Many of the __children__**inhabitants**__ of this house perished in the raid, including a difficult struggle between Breckenridge and the "__foster parents__" __**suspects**__**,**__ which resulted in both their deaths and his. O'Malloy has also been killed in this raid, and I believe that our previous notion that these people were among the dissident Death Eater groups, the "Real Death Eaters" as they call themselves, is completely and inexorably wrong. I feel dirty all over. Completely dirty without hope of becoming clean. Kinvarra, as you can expect, is in smouldering ruin after the raid, and I questioned a few victims before lifting various curses from them. I don't believe we have won a victory here, Sandra. _

_As always, do not tell Mother of this failure. Tell her I send her my love and I am working to advance her cause in Southwestern Ireland. She can't know that this atrocity is in anyway linked to me, O'Malloy and Breckenridge. __(You were aware however, that Breckenridge is Muggle-born, are you not?)__ Tell Mum also that I have succeeded in "adopting" a child for her cause. He is the first, and they insist on calling him Francis Tolland, but I think this name is unsuitable. He's a bit older than she would have liked, but he shall be returning with me on the journey home. I do hope you are well and do not trouble yourself with these matters. All will end well, I assure you._

_Affectionately,_

_Lucius D. B. Ryan_

Sandra Calliope Ryan read the letter through twice before crossing her legs and sighing, turning her head to the window of the library. It was the second floor of the Ryan's Manor home, but the yard below seemed further down than two stories. The library was one large room with several rows of shelves, and two cosy armchairs sat in the back near the only window and source of natural light in the room. Upon the walls, on either side, tapestries hung and lamps shot out in steady intervals, giving the room a peaceful gloomy feeling. When in need of a respite, Sandra sought this sanctuary. The books on the shelves had been gathered by her great-grandmother, Angelica Ryan, who had attended Hogwarts School before Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle or the Evans-Potter family had played their roles in its renown. There were authors in this room who had revolutionised the world of magic: Delano Deglio Marcusius, an entertaining Etruscan Charms-caster, Terwald Tippance-Goodridge, an excellent English Potions mistress, Yermolái Loboyavich, a strange Siberian Seer, and more. Gradually, the older books (identified by their large size) were succeeded by the newer stock. This was the assortment from which Sandra had gained her magical education, as had Lucius. Her favourite subjects had been Charms, Astronomy and Transfiguration, and she had attained Ordinary Wizarding Levels in each, but all that success left her in the position she was in now… unfortunately alone and increasingly worried for her brother.

They lived here not because they had no other place to live, but because they needed to protect their mother. Madam Rosemary Sibyl Finchley-Ryan was, until Andromeda Trelawney and her mother arrived on the scene, among the most well known Diviners of her era. It was common knowledge that an allegiance between herself and You-Know-Who would have been most advantageous for the latter, but Madam Rosemary had been too wise and omniscient, even, for You-Know-Who (as unbelievable as this may seem) and she guessed how disposable she would become if such an allegiance were made. She had called on her daughter, who, seemingly, had not inherited her "third eye" as completely as Madam Rosemary had, and her son, an Auror for the Ministry, to protect her. The truth of this matter only became known after much argumentation over 'this prison', as Lucius had often referred to it. Why she had kept it a secret under the pretences that she foresaw terrible death in their futures, Sandra never truly did not figure out, nor did she attempt to draw the answer from the source. However, Lucius did, and Sandra could only imagine it was for this reason that he had stormed off to begin working more steadily with the Ministry. And then, it seemed a miracle, he began to head the Covert Operation Squad (MINCOS), which, in the wake of Harry Potter's triumphant victory, sought dissident groups that _might have_ split away from the Death Eaters, but remained faithful to their own interpretations of the Death Eaters' credo: kill all, leave none. Many of these were poorly managed. The Yorkshire-based offspring, "Slytherin's Spies" had fallen apart within its operations, and under the Ministry approved interrogation of Mefalda Halloweaze, one of the "Spies", their aim had been made clear and their location apprehended. Slytherin's Spies sought to destroy all English families in which either one or both parents of Wizards or Witches were Muggle. Whether or not the Spies intended on destroying the entire family, one could only guess for the MINCOS effectively arrested all the members of the group, in a bloodless struggle, and interred them in the new top-security Ministry Prison on the Isle of Man. Of course, Ms. Halloweaze's untimely demise shortly after internment meant that their capabilities of murder existed only on themselves.

"_Don't worry, Sandy. SS was hardly a threat._" Lucius had written on the night of Mefalda Halloweaze's murder. "_There are more dangerous groups to be discovered_." And, as usual, he had been correct. All this had to be kept secret from Madam Rosemary, of course. "Come off it, Luc!" Sandra had yelled at him during one heated debate over the matter. "You act as if she doesn't have a clue what you're doing! She's a _Seer_, for Grawp's sake!" Lucius had retorted, sourly, "A Seer? You think Mum is a genuine Seer. Think before you answer, Sandy! She hasn't made any prophesies since she lied to us about some 'horrible and gruesome most death'… or whatever the Dark Lord she said! Don't gasp! It's just a name!" He'd fallen into a seething silence, pacing the floor, and she had traced him with her eyes, worried. "SO you want us to continue to lie to her," she'd broken the silence tentatively, and shrank in his responsive glare. "Of course I don't _want_ to lie to her, Sandra, but she _lied_ to us to _imprison us here_, didn't she?" Sandra had sighed. "Please don't call it that. This is HOME. Its where, they say, the heart is. We are _safe_ here."

"Well, why should _we_ be safe here if there's a jolly good chance that people _out there_ aren't?"

"Well, talk to Mum and confess that you're doing this work? Who knows how she'll react?"

"I DO!" He'd bellowed. Steam had seemed to rise from every pore in his skin as he had cornered her in the room, looking very frighteningly murderous. "I know _exactly_ how Mum will act! She'll tell me I'm being _irresponsible_ and _difficult_, and she'll want to know _why_ I feel the NEED to put myself in danger despite her intention to keep me safe! And, you know what the kicker is in all this rubbish? I'll _know_ she doesn't care half a wit if I am killed in action or not!" He'd stormed away to the other side of the room, solely (she thought) for the purpose of shouting the next bit he had to say. "I DOUBT _ANYONE_ WILL NOTICE IF I DIED!"

Sandra could remember bursting into tears at this indication. It was absolutely false, she had tried to convince him, but when Lucius made his mind upon something, one was incredibly hard pressed to change it in any direction. Present day Sandra Ryan let out another giant sigh and recollected how painfully she had struggled to keep Lucius' secret all these years. It had been a terrible war of loyalties. To her Mother, Sandra believed she owed everything; but to Lucius…. He was her brother; it was all right for her to love him. To her great relief, the secret had revealed itself in time. It felt like Madam Rosemary had gone to bed one evening, dreamt that her son was involved in something truly important, had woken up in the morning and questioned him with curiosity, not chagrin, about what he was _truthfully_ up to at work. And, he had acquiesced to her request, had told her about MINCOS and what they strove to achieve. She had approved, saying something similar to, if not exactly, "I had thought as much". The pressure of being Secret-Keeper had been lifted, on that secret. Together, the three of them had decided to create a "Safe House" for Muggleborn children, hoping that these dissident Death Eater groups would not recognise that someone (or some persons) was taking children into protection against them.

The movement toward mischief with the Ministry had gone international, with Ireland producing three gangs, prior to the "Bán Sidhes". The Draconus Major, a group that used a combination of Unforgivable Curses, Divination and Astronomical lies to incur the most painful torture upon Squibs and Muggleborns, had proved a very difficult test to the MINCOS, and Sandra had feared the disappearance of her brother at the hands of this diabolical gang. Yet, once more, it took one member – Sebastian Craup – to destroy the entire group, and after a lengthy conversation, aided by Ministry-appointed Law Enforcers, Craup had revealed plans and locations for the gang's next three 'Big Plays'. The Draconus Major now formed a human constellation upon the third level of the Ministry's prison on the Isle of Man. The Dubliners had been a group disguised as musicians, and they killed their victims in broad daylight, around highly intoxicated Muggles and within the packed and stuffy environs of pub houses throughout the city of Dublin. The euphoria they poured into their (pardon the term) shitty music quickly affected the Muggles, driving them into a state of chaos, especially mixed with alcohol, and thus causing them to riot upon whomever was the Dubliners' intended victim. That they didn't seem to care at all that more than one life was lost in these ventures never quite bothered the gang, and they were incredibly difficult to track as the Irish gardái (police) treated these cases as accidental homicide, and they flashed over the news simply as accidents in the Muggle world. James Knightley, one among the several highly trained Aurors in the MINCOS, had identified the serial killings (for some odd reason, whenever the song, "Black Velvet Band", was requested, these killings followed before the final refrain) and, to his credit, had managed to apprehend one of the Dubliners. However, varying levels of interrogation on the apprehended Aillil Murdoch, yielded little information. Weeks had passed, Sandra recalled, when Lucius would write short letters with little information and hardly anything to be hopeful for. Of course, one day, it all seemed to click. Lucius never described what "it" was, but before long, his letters grew longer and contained more information than before, and Sandra had discerned that some breakthrough had been had. Her answer came when the Muggle arrest of the members of the band hit the periodicals all over the country.

Sandra remembered how long the next portion of her life had seemed to take. She expected Lucius to return home, but he never made mention in his letters that he intended to do this. She figured he was up to something else, that he had a lead somewhere else, but when she tried to extract this information from him, he never gave her a straight answer; eventually, she had given up on it entirely. It should have gotten better when he finally returned home, but things didn't stay peaceful for long. Lucius looked very different; he acted strangely, and initially, Sandra had taken this as a sort of stress being relieved from gruelling missions, which were always at high-risk level. She abated her questioning, and she waited till he showed signs of being himself again. These signs never came. What, then, should she have done? Stalked him? Set a tracing charm on him so that she always knew where he was?

These days felt very similar to those days, Sandra thought. His letters were getting more and more abstract. He always _claimed_ to be working on their cause – his, hers and Madam Rosemary's – but precious little evidence was presented that anything he did was to promote the cause!

'I doubt I can trust anything he says anymore,' she'd thought on many occasions.

The sound of books tumbling from their shelves and crashing to the floor made Sandra jump, dropping the letter. The squeak of rusty wheels followed the crash, and soon enough a house elf dressed in a pink frock and wearing white gloves appeared around the last row of shelves. She jumped when she spotted Sandra, then heaved a long-winded sigh.

"Pardon me, Miss Sandra. I didn't know ye'd be in here at this time." The house elf curtsied humbly.

"What was that crash, Bianca?" The mistress enquired. Bianca, the house elf, turned a flushed colour and twisted her fingers, nervously.

"That was my clumsiness again, Miss Sandra. I tried to – I found the – _Master_ has been taking out and forgetting to return the Law books again!" she fell into tears as if she had just told the most terrible story and could not lie about it anymore.

"Bianca, its fine. The Law books are too big and heavy for you. Please, stop crying. You can put them wherever you want. They don't have to go on the top shelf." The elf looked up at Sandra through bloodshot watery eyes.

"Mistress Sandra is always so kind to poor Bianca. Bianca doesn't deserve it, but she will be happy to oblige Miss Sandra." She removed one of the white gloves and used it like a tissue, blowing her nose very loudly and dabbing her eyes with the other side. Sandra recognised the gloves as an old set Madam Rosemary used to use on trips to Hogsmeade and Cambridge, when she felt it was safe to go anywhere outside of the Manor. She had made them a gift to the elf on the 20th anniversary of her service to the family. Despite being freed from servitude, Bianca remained loyal to the family. Her age limited her to certain tasks, and her favourite among these was shelving books. What puzzled Sandra was Bianca's mention of Master, and as there was only one man living in the house (if it could be called living, what Lucius did), Sandra interpreted this news as a sign that Bianca's age was affecting her memory as well. Lucius wasn't home.

"Mistress Sandra wants Bianca to be quiet, does she?" the elf asked.

"Bianca, you said the Master has been taking law books, did you not?"

"Yes, the Master doesn't respect the library. He leaves his books all over the house and Bianca has to go—" but Sandra held up a hand in silence, and the elf obliged.

"Bianca, the Master is not at home. Lucius is not home." The elf's eyes opened very wide and she grasped her mouth, demonstratively.

"Oh Bianca ought not to have lied to Miss Sandra! Bianca promised not to—"

"BIANCA! Tell me, is the Master Lucius home or not?"

"Bianca does not lie to the Mistress. Bianca swears she saw the Master, but poor Bianca's eyesight is not what it used to be. Poor Bianca is getting so old, she can't remem—"

"Lucius is away. See here," Sandra held out the letter that had fallen at her feet. The elf came forward, still grasping her mouth trying to hold her lips shut, while trying to speak at the same time. She took the letter with her free hand and examined it before turning a very dark red and beginning to whimper.

"See? He wrote this letter to me two days ago, and I've not seen him since then. Therefore, since this letter states that he is in Southwestern Ireland – which is _not_ the Manor – and since I have _not_ seen him in the past two days, we must conclude that he is _still_ abroad, must we not?" Sandra's tone was authoritative, but Bianca continued to mutter and whimper.

"What is it, Bianca? What are you withholding from me?" Sandra scolded, understanding the house elf's body language better than her mutterings. Bianca smiled, nervously, ushering an anxious laugh, and then, she turned to leave. She cocked her head to the side, her large ear touching her elbow and sliding down her porky arm. Whenever she got nervous about something, she acted in such a way, and Sandra knew exactly how to get information.

"Bianca," Sandra sang softly, in a chiding tone. "I order you to tell me: is Master Lucius home, or is he not at home? You _must_ tell me the truth, at once." Bianca stopped dead in her tracks, quivering where she stood; it was clear her mind told her one thing whilst her nature told her another. It was clear, also, that she had no intention of telling the truth, but her enchantment, as a house elf, forced her to obey her mistress. Turning, reluctantly and merely by force of obeying Sandra, the house elf forced a smile and began the tale from where she had intersected Master Lucius.


End file.
